Bathe in Color

19. Grayson Pierce, Age 17, August 6, 2019

After our magical day at the beach, Paris is all I can think about. It was exhilarating visiting with him. Every time he laughs, his mouth opens wide, carrying a fantastical and unforgettable echo. I hadn't been to the beach in a very long time, and watching that beautiful guy as he swayed in the cool bright blue waves made it better than my wildest expectations.

Since the moment I drove Paris back to our cul-de-sac yesterday, he's consumed my thoughts. He looked at me in a way I never dreamt of someone looking at me. I want to capture that delicate and gorgeous face and keep it in my heart forever.

On my desk sits the camera that Maya and Tommy bought me as a going-away present. It replaced my much older model, yet I haven't even used it yet. I really want to. More than anything, I want to take photos of Paris.

Suddenly, I have an idea.

Without hesitation, I slip on a pair of joggers and a tank top before grabbing my camera and running out the door. Hastily, I rush over to Paris' house and knock on the front door. I wait there for a few minutes, frantically hoping he'll answer. Worried that something might be wrong, I knock again. Finally, Paris opens the door. He looks particularly radiant, staring me down with his reflective brown eyes that suck me in like a lethal vortex. He analyzes me for a minute, probably wondering why I'm standing on his front porch for the third time this week.

"Hey."

"Hey," he responds, unable to hold back a little chuckle that drives me insane.

"Look, I know this may sound crazy, but I got this new camera and I've been dying to test it out. I was wondering if you wanted to...maybe..."

"Maybe, what, Gray?"

Something about hearing Paris call me "Gray" so nonchalantly makes my heart skip in ways it never has before. I can already feel a faint blush hitting my skin, but I finally manage to spit out what I've been trying to say.

"...model for me?"

"Model?" Paris stutters with a fragile mumble, surprised at my request. His gentle voice sends a chill down my spine. I try to blink away the feeling, hoping it doesn't take me over. A part of me hopelessly wants it to take me over. Like a drug I'm intoxicated by him. His trademark scent lingers in the air, jasmine flowing through my nose, setting a dazzling array of fireworks off in my mind.

Eventually, I manage to bring myself down to reality and answer his question.

"Yeah..."

"I'm certainly not model material."

Paris' face dims, crestfallen. I hate seeing him like this. Paris is a delicate flower I wish to protect, a blooming rose among a field of disgusting little weeds.

"Paris, how can you say that? You're astonishing." 

"You really believe that?" Paris scoffs, unable to comprehend my raging adoration.

"Absolutely."

Without another word, Paris opens up the door and lets me in.

If only I had the courage to let him in and say what else is on my mind. That Paris isn't just astonishing. He's a masterpiece; a sparkling gem that outshines any other. He draws me in with those hypnotizing coffee bean eyes and adorable raven black curls. I've never met a guy who has a smile as radiant as his, with thin lips that curl upward in the most exceptional way right before he laughs. It brings out the adorable freckles dotted across his cheeks and makes me wish I could wake up every day to the view of Paris' beauty. 

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